


Painfully Aware

by Deiro



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Implied Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 20:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4113328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deiro/pseuds/Deiro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes wearing a different set of lenses for Bruce to learn things about Jason. Some of those, he wishes he could erase. And in others, he decides to partake. Jay 'n Matches on identity/chili dog bonding. Rating for swearing and implied topics!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Painfully Aware

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago, back when I was into a brujay binge. I love the different personas these characters have!! So I had this idea where Bruce uses his 'Matches' persona to stalk Jay whenever he skips school & ends up finding all kinds of information that way. Ones that required a different approach from that of Batman's or Bruce Wayne's. And so... bonding ensues.

He agreed to meet the kid out here around nine pm. It’s late enough to appreciate the full moon above lighted streets under the dark sky, and early still for the decent people to enjoy themselves mostly uninterrupted. Matches Malone’s hair fans out, chilly breeze dangling his tie aside, and his trademark matchstick loosely between his lips. He lazily waits, with his hands on his pockets, for his ‘company’ to get away from whoever he’s laughing with at the food stands on the street corner.

It’s a guy named Renato. A tan, stubby, thick-haired Latino that runs a chili dog and pretzels stand. Jason has never mentioned anything about him to Bruce or anyone, but Batman _knows_ what the man’s relationship has been with the boy for the past few years.

Fortunately, Renato’s records were clean–no fraudulent, illicit, or odd behavior found–despite the many grease spots and stains _charmingly_ adorning his wardrobe that Bruce isn’t sure are all from food.

But Matches smiles at the man with casual familiarity, merely waiting from a distance. Though neither of them cross eyes, it _is_ a genuine smile on both their faces. Because if Bruce Wayne were here now, he might’ve extended to him more than a warm handshake and a simple 'thank you,’ for being the man that probably kept Jason from starving to death on a few occasions before.

Matches is sure Jason is discretely handing him a pair of mismatched “lost” earrings from some of Wayne’s late dates, besides the cash, as payment for the four stuffed chili dogs Jay manages to hold in his hands; while probably joking about rich vain girls and boring auction Galas _(Fuck, Renato, I’m telling you they got PLENTY of this shit. *Take* it!_ ).

Which is why he finds that smiling at Renato right now, behind the dark navy shades and away from the man’s sight, is almost painful. Because Bruce truly _knows_ , but all he can do right now is pretend, not even getting close enough to offer him something a little more genuine than Jason’s stolen goods.

More chortles, then Jason turns to grab some napkins from the side and bites halfway into the first chili dog, barely able not to drop the others, and hums pleasurably as he savors the (unhealthy) meal, and fares the man good-bye.

The wince Matches’ eyes make would be clearly visible if it wasn’t for the shades, watching Jason consume his first meal in just two bites and approach him to hand him one as well, speaking with his mouth full. “Here.”

Matches’ hands can do no more than receive the chili dog and then.. just scrutinize it. It’s partly wrapped in thin wax paper that scarcely keeps all the filthy sauce from dripping. They both make their way to the nearest bench and sit down. Matches unwraps his chili enough to take a good bite out of it, but he hesitates, takes his time to off his matchstick away.

“My old man hates this stuff,” Jason utters while chewing his second chili, lips glistening with grease, and mouth making sloppy eating noises.

Matches looks, lifting his hand up in an attempt to get his portion just a bit closer to his mouth, but–

“Your old man?” he manages to say curiously, arching an eyebrow and ignoring Jason’s obvious (intentional?) lack of eating manners.

“Yup,” Jason answers, wipes at his lips with his tongue and makes an attempt to swallow another mouthful. “ _They’re full of unhealthy nitrates, chum_ ” he mocks with a hoarse voice, tilting his head and scrunching his nose, then cleans his face with a napkin. “Hates the junk food.”

Matches can feel the corner of his lips lifting up. It’s completely accurate, yes, but it’s still so _funny_ to be wearing this cheap polyester suit while listening to Jason complain about his… other self so freely (and call him _his_ old man).

And rather than spouting some fatherly bullshit a well-intentioned stranger _might_ say, Matches merely smiles sleazy.

“Eh, what does he know? I’m sure his tastes are simply just… Different.” He then leans forward, mouth opening for his tongue finally making contact with the sauce. When Jason eyes him curiously, his bite is bigger than he first intended, and he shuts his eyes when they start to wince, _tasting_ the meal. “Not bad,” he munches.

Jason chuckles and looks down, “whatever,” and makes a series of smaller bites, but still indulges plenty to amount to–good gosh–nearly all of his third chili.

“You’re voracious,” Matches says, but there are so many subjects Bruce wants to attach to that, when it comes to Jason Todd.

“Hey, man. You just never know when you’ll get to _eat_ next,” the boy replies with his index finger quickly wiping some chili sauce off the corner of his mouth and then puckering lips over it, _sucking_ it clean.

Matches’ breath hitches just barely and swallows with an awful aftertaste. He cannot finish his chili dog. But he thinks about why it might be Jason’s favorite food. And when the kid bends his head down to dig into his last bite, Matches’ eyes involuntarily follow the back of Jay’s neck, mostly covered by his denim jacket collar, and retraces a fading trail of teeth marks–that were painted on his skin before they met–with his memory.

Bruce knows exactly where every one of those marks are found on Jason’s body and why. His fingers involuntarily move up to hover right above that skin, right beneath where Jay’s dark curls end, while guilt washes over him. If only.. if only he’d had the pleasure to meet Jason.. a little earlier, and–

“That’s something you won’t _ever_ have to worry about, Jay..”

Jason shudders instinctively at the touch at first, but then leans into it, exhaling. “Why is that?” eyes closed, lips curving into a mischievous grin. “You plan on taking me to your pad?”

Matches retreats his hand immediately after that, his mouth forming a thin straight line. No, he hadn’t meant it like _that_. He had meant.. well.. _Bruce_ meant—

The lack of touch makes Jay turn to him, locking into his view with eyes that faintly narrow at the hesitancy in Matches’ gaze; his actions. A hesitancy that _shouldn’t_ be there. Not on Bruce nor Matches.

Who returns his hand up, but rests it on Jay’s shoulder. A _comforting_ touch is what he was going for. _…_ But _…_

“If you think,“ fingers tapping at the fabric covering Jay’s shoulder, and the temptation to just give _in_ to the boy’s _needs_ is too… overwhelming. "You’re still hungry for more?” Matches’ smile returns, and he snakes his arm all around Jason’s shoulders.

“ _Always_ ,” Jay replies, rocking into him, eyes opening deep blue and _smiling._ He then raises his hand mid-way and makes a gesture to receive. "So you gonna finish your end, or what?”

Matches blinks. He’d discretely wrapped what was left of his chili dog and hid it on his pocket, scarcely hoping it’d go unnoticed.

“Was just saving it for you later, baby,” he bares his teeth but his tone isn’t enough to stop Jason from eyeing down his pocket, and elbowing when Matches chuckles. “Alright, alright. Just don’t give yourself a heartburn.”

“Fucking depreciator!” Jason spouts, snatching it away as soon as Matches retrieves the goods from his pocket, both grinning from ear to ear. They lean back to the bench, with Jason indulging in yet another chili, slurping sauce away noisily, and Matches’ other hand briefly squeezing the boy’s shoulder.

The moon radiates beauty in clear waves above them, as if driving away any clouds. Matches figures that a couple of sodas, maybe some fries, and Neapolitan ice cream will follow at a nearby diner.

Both Bruce and Jason know that, afterwards, there will be _more_.

**~Fin~**


End file.
